This is a story, told in a myriad of orderless vignettes, of two young people totally in love and totally wrong for each other. I am one, and I am trying to understand why I tried so hard when it all seems like it was so doomed. Everyone else knew it; why didn’t I?

Not everything recorded here is real memory. Some of it is my imaginings, but as a playwright and vivid dreamer with Adjustment Disorder and Anxiety with Depressive Mood, the fallacious plagues me all too well. The real story was affected by it, so it must be a part of the retelling.

Conversations Between A Young Woman and Her Drug Dealer: A Romantic Tragedy


[April 7th. 12:45 AM.

Text message: So not only did you not sleep but you’ve also been high since 8 AM?? WTF is wrong with you?? I have defended you to within an inch of your being to Diane that you don’t have a problem but clearly I’ve been living with a rock over my head and nothing I can do will help you. Good luck. If you need help, you will need to ask for it. I am removing myself otherwise. Goodnight.

Response: Good. Bye]

Part I: The End, cont.

[April 7. Midnight. A young woman stands, livid in a door way. A young man sits, looking wearily up at her.]
She: Yes, I think of you as laissez-faire.
He: I just made $200 in the last 2 hours.
She: Yeah, by sitting on your ass.
He: Money is money. Whew. I’m drunk. Probably because I only had half a pack of Skittles today.
She: Why?!
He: Didn’t have time.
She: At all?
He: Nope. I’ve been really busy.
She: So when did you pick up those drugs today?
He: Earlier.
She: So, could you have eaten something during that time?
He: I’d rather not spend cash.
She: Ask your stepdad for grocery money.
He: Yes.
She: Whatever.
[He pours himself another drink.]
She: Why the hell were you up until 3 AM?
He: Look, it’s none of your business.
She: Yeah, but you can’t go and pretend to be all buddy buddy with one of our friends in solidarity that you both have only gotten four hours of sleep but I’ll bet good money that he was doing work and you, who had and still has a ||shitton of work, watched a horror movie …
He: ||Yeah, I’ll bet he was.
He: I just feel like I’m leading you on.
She: Meaning what?
He: I’m just stuck between wanting to move on and being stuck here.
[Beat. She inhales as if to say something. Stops. Beat.]
She: Okay. Goodnight. [She turns to go.]
He: Fuck you. What the hell.
She: What?!
He: How am I supposed to react to this? I feel like I’ve been expected to want to do something.
She: Yeah, I guess so.
He: Well.
She: I guess I had thought I made it clear.
He: Made what clear.
She: The fact that I was interested in this being a thing.
He: You did.
She: And I thought that by us having sex yesterday, you were on board for the rules I sent you over break. The ones about not hooking up with other people if we were still going to have sex? Like, not date, as in you didn’t have to be any semblance of a good or even present boyfriend, but that we’d have a monogamous booty call situation. And so, silly me, thought that you were on board.
He: I am on board.
She: No, because you aren’t sure if you would rather have sex with me or with your text hookup chick.
He: Don’t you —
She: No, fine, whatever. I’m clearly wrong and I’ll realize it tomorrow and shit all over myself for having been so inconsiderate and rude so whatever. Take these [she removes a strip of three condoms from her back pocket and throws them at him] and use them with your whor–  [she turns and leaves before she actually says this word. She storms out the door. The camera follows her as she stomps down the steps and into the brisk night, her angry breath billowing out in front of her.]